the forsythia touches the moon.
Of all the signs of the zodiac
cancer rises over her brow,
wrinkled for thirty-seven years.
Then the constellation fades,
the sun burns the weeds on the lawn
until suddenly they are green.
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A sudden brightness. Call it day.
a thousand shades of morning grey,while underneath: the coiling crowdsbear their pastries and precious fruit.The cobble-stones shimmer in the rainas ‘glory, glory’ the bells bruitpast the sinners along the lane.
Better than the burn of booze
is the cheap skid-row wine you useto light the day when you’re alone.As spleen and liver give up ghoststhe leaves go golden on their stems,then fall before the lord of hostswho neither cares, saves, nor condemns.The hand of the grandfather clockmoves you towards a grotto grave,while you lie ready by the rockor say goodbye beneath…
She hears bombs raze the nunnery.
back to Israel, to reloadnew bombs sent from America.Blinding smoke burns in her eyesand shrouds the limbs of terrorists,boys and girls from grammar schoolwho in the spring first learned to count.
A leaf, perhaps the last,
spins in the chilly blastof November, floating freebefore it hits a wall,attempts to run and leap,only to quickly fallonto a mounting heapof others, stop, and fade.No one admired its fightwith wind, and no one madea chronicle of its flight.It lies anonymous.No one recalls or grieves.It’s one of numerousother autumn leaves.No one saw what you sawthat…
‘Every living being is an engine geared to the wheelwork of the universe. Though seemingly affected only by its immediate surroundings, the sphere of external influence extends to infinite distance.’—Nikola Tesla
out of the mire, up to the skies.And so it is on a strange planetorbiting a distant star.The paradigmatic two eyescrawl out of the indifferent water,the wide lungs of a dinosaur,the father, mother, son and daughterof the first mammal in his jaws.A billion years will likely passbefore they walk on their two feet,a billion more…
The heart would heal, blood not sour in the veins,
the body rise, and in the light, forget its pains,the once mad apes freed by the glorious wall.And all would climb the miraculous ladder,eyes burning, behind mirrors, and in the sun:see Your face, ineffable, but much sadder,wrestling with what God for whose will to be done?(2000)